


Severance Package

by Turbulent_Muse



Series: Magnusquerade stories [9]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Betrayal, Do Not Archive, Dream Manipulation, Gen, Major Character Undeath, No Dialogue, Vampire AU, Vampires, You have no idea how long it took me to fit Michael's backstory into this au, canon typical Spiral shenanigans, obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:28:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22191820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turbulent_Muse/pseuds/Turbulent_Muse
Summary: I love Michael so I brought him into the Magnusquerade.
Relationships: Gertrude Robinson & Michael Shelley
Series: Magnusquerade stories [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1600123
Comments: 8
Kudos: 50
Collections: The_Magnusquerade





	Severance Package

Michael Shelley liked working for Gertrude Robinson. It made him feel like he was doing some good in the world, actually helping. Helping others like he couldn’t help Ryan. But he could never hope to be an archivist himself, he was much too afraid of what was out there in the dark.

He was actually a little unclear on what exactly was out there in the dark. He knew there were monsters, and at least some of those monsters were probably vampires, and that was about it. Gertrude seemed to know more than he did sometimes, but he figured if she was keeping any details from him it was because they were gross or horrifying things that he didn’t need to know.

Before they went to Sannikov Land she told him more than she ever had before. There was a group of monsters trying to remake the world in the image of their god of dreams and lies and madness. And he and Gertrude were going to stop them. Michael Shelley felt _honored_ that she was entrusting him with this mission, and happily followed her to the frozen north. On their way there she gave him a map. An impossible map. When he asked what was the map of she told him he’d know when he needed it, and to always keep it on him.

When they reached land they began hiking, and Michael Shelley was worried about how Gertrude would hold up in the cold, but she seemed to not even feel the harsh wind that had him chilled to the bone hy the time they arrived in front of a warehouse that was amazingly, impossibly warm. The warehouse had a pale yellow door, and the words Zemlya Sannikova were painted above it in bright fresh black paint. But the longer he stared at the letters the more they seemed to… twist.

It was here that Gertrude told him he’d have to go on alone, she could not go through the door with him. Poor poor Michael Shelley was scared, as scared as he had ever been in his life, but he _trusted_ her, and he wanted to help. He clutched the map tightly in his hand and he opened the door.

He was unconscious before the door swung shut behind him.

As he stepped through the door, he saw himself in a humid, thick jungle. Far larger than anything the warehouse could logically contain. He didn’t look back, but if he had he would not have seen the door. He unfolded the map in his hands, and started walking.

As he walked, not only did the pathways through the trees twist and distort, but the trees themselves were no longer trees. They were memories. Events in the life of Michael Shelley. And as he moved ever forward even those memories started to twist and distort until he didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t. But he had his map, and he trusted it. He navigated his way through his own mind even as it turned into something unrecognizable around him.

The moment he found his way to consciousness he screamed. His head, no, his _mind_ hurt from trying to tell real from unreal, and from being distorted by an outside source. And as soon as that outside source saw him awake they dragged him to an altar and strapped him down as he thrashed and shook in pain and fear.

You see, the ritual that the Spiral clan was attempting required the blood of one who lived in madness. Simply being mad wouldn’t do, one had to function within the madness to be an acceptable candidate. One had to wake up. The candidate would bleed out on the altar, a twisted thing of fractals and patterns which hurt the eyes, and in the process be turned so they could lead the clan through the new world of insanity and lies.

But Michael Shelley was not still in the depths of the dream’s deception, as the Spiral clan assumed. He had not fought his way _through_ the madness, he had navigated _around_ it. This is not to say that he was sane after such an experience, but he knew his own memories, and that, along with his connection to the Eye, was enough to cause the ritual to fail.

The cosmic shockwave of the failure was enough to kill many of the Spiral’s servants. Others killed themselves out of despair, others simply fled. The Spiral clan was all but wiped out, just as Gertrude had predicted. She wasn’t around to see the results, however, she had left as soon as the door closed behind him. She knew what she was creating, and she knew how to protect herself from it. This was no accident, Michael Shelley trusted her and she fed him to the Spiral.

Michael Shelley. Poor, stupid, _trusting_ , Michael Shelley died on that altar, and what came back was not him, not really. It was the culmination of all the madness and lies and hopes and dreams of the Spiral clan, a being made to rule in a world of distortion, forced to live in a world of reality, confined to an existence with an identity, a past, memories. It was me.

I am the leader and the embodiment of the Spiral clan, with an existence tainted by the Eye’s truth. Such a creature was never meant to be and I’m afraid this has driven me a little bit mad, Archivist.

[Giggles]

What? Don’t care for jokes? _I_ thought it was a rather good one. Anyway, in addition to all that, I am a leader without followers. I am alone. It-Is-Not-What-It-Is’ presence in this world practically imploded, and what’s left is me. Michael. Not quite what I was meant to be, not even close to what I was before. That, Archivist, is who I am.


End file.
